


They call them Twin Flames

by Zombiebile



Category: Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: Apparent suicide, Death, Drug Abuse, Grief, M/M, Murder, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-29
Updated: 2015-11-22
Packaged: 2018-03-20 07:45:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3642291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zombiebile/pseuds/Zombiebile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes you don't know how connected you are to a person until you lose them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One is the Lonliest Number

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JennyEllenWicked](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JennyEllenWicked/gifts).



> This is a work in progress. I have a general idea of where I want this to go and will be adding chapters as they come to me.
> 
> Note*I have been ill and am hovering on the next chapter when I am able to finish I will post 7/3/15

I couldn’t recall how it happened, I wasn’t there unforgivably, but I was certain that it went quick enough. It was past noon on a Sunday when I had gotten the phone call alerting me that my elder brother Mycroft had been admitted to the hospital and was lying in a coma, unreachable, and unresponsive. At this point, I am still uncertain of what had actually transpired; however, these are the events as I remember them. 

The doors to Bart’s lower level opened with a swish and as a flurry I rushed through them and threw myself at the information desk. “Where is my brother, where is Mycroft Holmes?!” The woman behind the desk, having now been shaken, quickly skimmed through paper work looking for the name admitted. “Mr Holmes is on floor three.” I turned away to make my way hurriedly for the lift. “Room 305” Came her voice again and I shifted my gaze for a second to see her bent forward over the counter. 

I hit the button for the lift with the palm of my head and gave it about a minute before even that was moving too slowly for the electrical surge within me; I quickly made for the stairs. I took each stair with only a brush of my foot as I followed the spiral to the third floor. I burst through the door, my pace not dulled until I found the open door to the room where Mycroft lie motionless hooked to a grouping of machines. I finally slowed as the shock now began to set in. There he was, my brother, who I always looked to as a constant fury was now struck down. 

Suddenly I felt the pull of gravity upon my body and the need to weep. Taking a side step, I used the doorframe to keep myself balanced by nudging my shoulder against it. “Mr. Holmes, Sherlock?” I turned my head to bring a petite brunet nurse into my view. She was timid, probably got picked on in school for her manner, sweetness and slight speech impediment. She gave me a smile and I rolled my shoulder into the wall. “What happened to my brother?” She glanced around me to Mycroft before looking up to me. “He was found at the scene of a car wreck. The paramedics surmise he must have hit his head. We won’t be sure until test results come in within the next few hours. 

I heard her, but her words were gargled at best and I couldn’t even look at her, my sights were fixated to my brother. “Mr. Holmes..” I blinked, as snapped back into the thrush of reality. I turned my vision onto the other. “Yes, right, I’m sorry.” She gave me a nod. “I can imagine this being difficult, I’ll leave you to see him now.” She moved passed me. “Yes, yes, thank-you.” My words fell softly and I returned my attention to Mycroft. 

I have never been one to be able to accurately pin-point emotions and doing so for myself is nigh impossible, but I could feel my heart in the pit of my stomach. Again gravity tugged at me, trying it’s damnedest to yank my entirety to the floor. I looked across the room to the hospital bed, which seemed so very far away, as though the room itself stretched on for miles and the bed lay against the furthest wall. My mind toiled, yet I couldn’t find anything within it to explain logically what I should do next or what I should have felt within that very moment. I felt a tug to my brother’s side and I followed it, knees shaking in tandem with each step that I took. Like the vision of a stretched room, it took me time before I was able to reach my brother’s side. I stood over him, my face blank, as my inner being still fought to piece together my emotions. I kept quiet in reverence for a few minutes. I followed the lines of his face with my eyes before they drifted downward to meet with his hand. I slowly lifted my own to rest a top his before my gaze once again found his face. "Please come back My.. I-I.. I will admit that I don't know how to do this without you." My insides began to ache as I listened to the way my voice trembled. I took in a breath to make an attempt to calm myself as the torrent rush of emotion began to build. “ It's an interesting thing really, when you think that you've lost someone you begin to remember the most random things.” My mind began to spiral and take me through a long list of memories presenting them clearly unordered but hand-in-hand with the building emotion. "You told me, when I was four, that if someone is in a coma you should talk to them because keeping the mind stimulated and the other essential factories going is important; that it is possible for the comatose to hear you." I turned to pull a chair next to the bed to settle into. "I wonder if you recall that summer when I was seven and you taught me how to catch fire-flies. I remember wanting to know what it was that made them glow and you telling me that they were little mechanical bugs as opposed to living things. So then I insisted we run the blueprints for an actual mechanical flying insect, which turned out rubbish.” The thought brought a somber chuckle from me, that once removed allowed pain to seep through.” I had miscalculated the wingspan verses the flight trajectory, but you know..” I took pause and dropped my eyes for a moment before allowing a small, sad smile to cross my lips.” Even though I knew you had been putting me on, a part of me still believed you.." I could feel the pain well within me and I was on the verge of tears. 

The memories continued and I tried desperately to keep up with the timeline. I saw myself at various ages standing in a line with a pool behind them. I walked the line and within the waters of each pool were images of various memories, each a different specific scene with my brother. I stopped at a point beside myself and gazed into the pool behind a child incarnation: eight. The images within the pool depicted a torrent of rushing water and I froze with the sight. The sound of my voice became a gargled whimper as the water silenced me. 

“That summer when father took us to camp and I fell off the log. I would have died had it not been for you. I was on my way back to you and father when it happened. I thought nothing could phase me and the logs were the best way to cross downstream. It happened so suddenly, I misstepped and the branch broke underneath my weight dropping me into the rush of the river. I thought for sure that I wouldn’t make it and any use of my voice was muffled from the thick gurgle of the water.” I again took pause and a lightness came over me, like the climb of a roller coaster. “The next thing I knew you had plucked me from the water and wrapped a blanket over my shoulders, a shock blanket.” I murmured. The act thereafter did nothing but remind me of the time I had nearly drowned. 

I had fallen back into silence, moving through my mind, climbing the line of ages. I stopped again at another vital point on the timeline and looked myself over. I remembered this all too well, the day my brother left me for University. This was the day that my life changed. 

"Honestly.. I still haven't forgiven you for leaving me for University; I'm no psychologist but I suspect that is where a great deal of my resentment toward you stems from. I could use that as the basis of most of my actions; the drugs, the neglect and well-" I had leaned back into the chair and gave a gesture with my hand. "My overall attitude toward you the last decade really.” I dropped my hands into my lap and folded my fingers together.” There we have a clinical breakthrough really." I waited, half in expectance of his awakening. “There, breakthrough, you can wake up now.” My voice cracked and I fell into silence simply looking Mycroft over. "...please don't leave me again My." Tears began to form and one rolled down my cheek. "I'm rubbish without you."

Once more I was the crying child in need of soothing, but the person whom had taken that as a working privilege lie motionless before me. I was weak, for all of the times that I took it upon myself to manage the impossible it was because of Mycroft; of knowing that no matter what happened or what trouble I got myself into he was always there to right the wrongs and to protect me. Not this time Sherlock, not this time. Came that all too familiar negative voice within my mind. I could no longer control the tears, which came all at once. I brought up my hands to wipe at the water that fell, but it did nothing but to rub the dampness into my skin. I had leaned my body forward and clutched at my sides with my fingertips, while my hands crossed my body. 

“I love you..” Came the words through cracks of my sobs. I was near lost to the world before that dreadful sound came. The long drawn out wine of the heart monitor. I lifted my head and peeked up at the machine from behind my mop of curls, which clung to my wet cheeks. In my head I was screaming, the upset and fear caused my mind palace to shake and the pools to ripple erasing those memories from my vision; The entire room began to spiral. The medics rushed in one after another and I stood there lost to the entirety. I was grabbed a hold of and pulled away from my bother’s side. “W-what’s happening..” I was pulled further away and the room again stretched out for miles. I reached a hand out to brace myself against the wall as I viewed a team quickly place paddles upon Mycroft’s chest. “Clear..” The sound of the electricity couldn’t calm the painful wail of the heart monitor. “We’re losing him.” Came the voice of another as again a surge of electricity was pushed through my brother’s body. Another tug came upon my arm and instinctively my fingers curved and my nails dug into the wall. No, I wanted to stay with him. I screamed out inside my mind and reached out for him, just as the lights flickered and burst sending glass to rain down upon me. "Mycroft!” 

The hand that curved my shoulder then brought me back into the here and now, just in time to hear the time death was recorded. Nothing, I felt nothing and all became quiet.


	2. Two can be as sad as one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock finds that like a human, he grieves too.

Perception drew backward and I was sitting there next to those near and dear to me. I don’t know the lapse of time, it continued to march on outside the stillness of my personal reality. A hand grasped my shoulder and I heard the sound of my mother crying as her fingertips clutched at the fabric of my suit. Outside, we were standing before burial. The official cause of my brother’s death had been ruled an cerebral aneurysm brought about by a serious blow to the head. My brows knit as my eyes scanned the area. It was amazing to see just how many people were huddled together taking the proper emotional stance; they were crying, so why couldn’t I? 

The sound of thunder cracked in the sky and took hold of my attention. I stared above me and watched the movement of the clouds. 

“How are you holding up?” I dropped my head to find John before me, time lapsed again and we were now in my parents sitting room amidst so called friends. “Not quite sure.” He gave a nod and looked about the room, taking note of all those mourning. “I have to admit I never would have pictured Mycroft having so many people who would actually cry over him.” I understood that exactly, neither would I; especially normal people. 

It had been a week and I still was prisoner to surrealism. I found myself again at the mercy of time going on without my knowledge, nothing felt real. I had often heard of grief doing this, playing tricks on the subconscious mind, but never before did I actually have a basis of my own for personal experience. 

"Sherlock, Sherlock!” 

Lestrade shook his head, and turned to Sally. “Quietest freak has ever been, there must be a God.” Lestrade scoffed at her disrespect. “Say something like that again and I’ll have your badge.” Sally knit her brows. “What’s gotten into ya, it’s just the Freak.” Lestrade looked over her shoulder at me, sitting, unmoving, before the body at the crime-scene, right before looking back into her face. “First of all, Sherlock is my friend okay, so I won’t be havin ya calling him that anymore, secondly his brother died so have some respect.” Something about the hum of the open air around me pulled me back into the present, I took in a breath and brought the victim into focus. Bewildered I rose to my feet, I looked around slightly confused before Lestrade came to meet me, Sally trailing behind him. I caught the other’s gaze. “I-I..” A hand came to clasp my shoulder. “Go on home Sherlock.” “I’m fine really..” Greg shook his head. “You’re not, go home, we’ll figure it out.” “You never figure it out.” I spurt. “Go home Sherlock.” 

Days ran into weeks, weeks climbed to months and nothing got better. The hollowness of my existence only seemed to branch off to the world I experienced when I was asleep. He came to me often, In dreams. I was fooled into the sublime trick and the comfort of thinking that this was reality as opposed to the ‘dream’ of my brother’s death. In my dreams I relived each and every moment, it’s a wonder to me still just how capable the human mind it; every detail was perfect. I began to spend more and more time asleep. 

John stepped into the room, accompanied by Mrs. Hudson who carried a tray of tea and biscuits. John rounded the bed to stand on my side of it and crouch as he looked upon me. I wasn’t exactly asleep, nor was I awake either. I lie there, clutching my pillow, and staring blankly off into the wall in my line of vision. “He’s been like this for days” said Mrs. Hudson, setting down the tray upon the dresser. John checked my pulse with his fingers. “I know you’re concerned Mrs. Hudson, but this is a perfectly normal response to loss.” She laughed. “I know, Sherlock normal.” John said, with a small chuckle and turned his attention back to me and lightly tapped my cheek with the palm of his hand. “Sherlock, ya with me..” I blinked and brought John into focus. “John?” I lifted my eyes and looked to Mrs. Hudson. “Sherlock, you’ve given us a fright, are you alright dear?” I shifted and pulled myself to sit before pushing myself from underneath the covers to slip out of bed. “Yes of course.” My lips unzipped to smile in an attempt to quell their worry. I dipped my head forward slightly. “I’m fine.” I extended a hand toward the door in offering of their departure. John stood and Mrs. Hudson made for the door. I rounded the bed in following her movement. I extended a hand to catch her shoulder; I leaned in. “Thank-you for the tea.” I said softly and pressed a kiss to her cheek and let her go. I turned around to greet John. “You sure you want to be alone Sherlock?” The question hit me harder than I should have allowed it. With the feigned smile still upon my lips, I gave a nod of my head. “I’ll be fine.” John tapped my shoulder. “Let me know if you need me.” “Always.” He exited and I pushed the door closed. 

Alone, the word knocked about my skull, creating endless voids. Without my brother I truly was alone, and though I physically understood, I hadn’t processed it completely until that very moment. Since I was born I had had Mycroft as a buffer; a way of relating and slowly immersing myself within the fold of the world because he was there as a sounding board. I had followed each and every step in life without fear because he had already done it. The room around me was hollow and the sound of silence was the most devastating thing to echo through my ears. Alone, I was alone and for the first time in my life there was no other like me; no other that would ever truly understand me. I took a step forward, to move across the room in a daze. Mycroft was the other half of my skull, for all the times we clashed, and for all the ways I made attempts to get under his skin he understood me better than anyone else ever had and now ever would. 

I stood at the window and peered outside. The sun had just begun to set and I watched it, unblinking, sink down behind the skyline. What was the point of any of this? I didn’t know what was expected of me anymore, or where my life was headed. I watched the sky fade to black. 

Lestrade called the next afternoon, said he wanted to see me. It must have been another unsolvable case and I swore that if they opened their eyes more often they could actually do their jobs. I met Lestrade outside of a pub and he opened an arm to gesture toward the back of the room. Stepping inside I waited for Lestrade and followed him to a booth in the corner of the room. I had to admit that pleasantries such as informal get togethers always threw me off. My eyes followed the other’s movements as Lestrade took a seat. I stood above him. “Well come on then, sit.” “Why do I need to sit, can’t you simply tell me what it is you need?”I met him with my usual perplexity. “Because what I have to say may take the next few hours.” I furrowed my brows, and he sighed. “It’s a friendly visit Sherlock, can’t I have ya in a room and there not be a murder?” He shook his head and leaned back into his chair. “I care about ya Sherlock okay, please join me.” I took a moment then slipped into the seat across from him. 

We sat in silence and I suppose I just stared at him for the next few minutes. “Well..” He started taking one of his hands from the folded blob of his fists upon the table. I arched a brow. “Well?” I questioned in exchange. Lestrade brought his hands back together and scrapped them against the countertop, I supposed that was some normal response to nerves. “You’re really going to make me work for this aren’t you?” The wait staff came by and Lestrade ordered a pint before offering to me and I put up a hand to turn them away. Lestrade shrugged. “Well, how have you been?” I simply stared at him. “How have I been, well, my brother just passed and It finally hit me that now I am the only person in this world who seems to use their brain and not go about asking off putting questions to someone who is grieving.” Lestrade’s lower lip dropped slightly and he quickly retorted. “I’m sorry, that’s not what I meant. I know yer goin through a rough patch.” “A rough patch?” I followed. Lestrade took his hand and smoothed his palm down the back of his head. “Yer really not going to let me win this are you?” “About as much as your ex-wife decided to let you win when she crawled into another man’s bed. Excuse me.” I slipped from the booth and proceeded to leave the pub. 

Evening fell and I found myself at the edge of Essex, in a corner of the township where I hadn't frequented in quite some time. It was here that I met with a man behind an old abandoned building. “If it ain't Sherlock Holmes.” His lips pulled to smile as he peered upon me with slight humor on his face. “I really don't think a name is an important part of this exchange, but if it makes you feel better I suppose I could be.” I held out the offered payment and we exchanged hands. I tucked my purchase into my coat pocket. “Pleasure.” 

I had closed myself off within my room and in an almost ritualistic manner I said goodbye to my sobriety. I gave the tourniquet a tug between my fingertips before giving it a toss across the room. The heroin’s haze came like welcoming an old friend; warm, I felt warmth for the first time in what seemed like an eternity. 

The pain had evened out and again I stood before the open window, gazing out into the vastness of the darkened world. Memory came upon me, like looking at a picture book that I couldn’t bring to close. I remembered the promise I had made to Mycroft the last time he had to come care for me, within my drug induced splendor; the night I swore I wouldn’t do that again. I laughed in spite of myself. “What’s it going to do, kill me?” I laughed again and turned for the bed. “Wouldn’t that be something.” 

I took a seat, sinking into the plush coverings. The thought made itself known-what’s the point of living.- Images clung to the inner workings of my brain, stuck like glue they would not let go. The hush of whisperings called to me, beckoning me to follow- to take my own life. 

I stood upon the edge of the void, eyeing the outside window once again in thought from my position upon my desk with a makeshift noose, made of sheet, around my neck. The whispering grew louder into a roar and I could feel tugging upon my person. A single pull knocked me from my stance and everything grew still: calm and dark.


	3. III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock has broken the system

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for how long it has taken to put out another chapter! Good news is that I have it in me to write once again, so hopefully the story will flow better through my fingertips.

Bright lights rose and I squinted with the harshness. I heard the sound of a machine powering down and I made another attempt to open my eyes and look around, blinking while my eyes adjusted to the light. I was in a large room with white walls and flooring, standing before a replica of myself upon the table top I had just left, noose around my neck. I narrowed my focus and took a few steps around the table to look myself over.  
“Sherlock Holmes” Came a soft, female automated voice. “Consciousness input 926817” I shifted my gaze to look about the room before my eyes watched a large screen spring to life showing footage of what appeared to be the last moments I remembered. “Suicide.” The voice stated as I witnessed the noose catching around my throat before the screen flickered and played the moment over. “Suicide.” The voice came once more before again the screen flickered. “Suic-“ The video skipped and began to blink as the voice itself started to skip like a broken record. The system must have reset itself because everything in the room shut down and the lights went off. I was in the pitch darkness for two minutes wondering just what had happened. The lights returned, again causing me to squint with the harshness before they adjusted. “Consciousness input 926817…infraction.”  
“Infraction.” I heard myself repeat before I realized that I was no longer the only one in the room. “Well well, it seems as though we’ve detected a glitch.” I turned my head to peer at a young woman over my shoulder. She moved fluidly as she made her way toward me. I pivoted on my feet in order to face her. “A glitch, I don’t follow.” She stopped before me and gave a coy smile, as though she thought my dumbfounded state to be cute. “Do you know where you are Mr. Holmes?” I took a moment to match her plucky tone. “I can’t say that I do, but this place could appear more homey.” She held her condescending smile. “You are dead Mr. Holmes, or should I say Consciousness 926817.” She held my gaze as she gave her hand a wave of gesture. “This is the warehouse.” I have to be honest and inform you that it took me much longer to comprehend those words than I was sure it should have. “Dead?” She chuckled slightly and moved past me. I followed her with my eyes as she moved back over to the computer that had just shut down. Her fingers moved swiftly upon the keys as she began to input information. I took a moment to look around before the word once more left my lips. “Dead…” My voice trailed off. “What I can’t figure out,” She started without looking up from the screen. “Is just what about your death has glitched the system.” She watched the footage of my death over again and I moved closer to take my own view. “It seems like a cut and dry suicide to me.” I knit my brows. “I didn’t kill myself.” She paused the video and looked up at me with smugness. “Oh no; Then care to explain what a noose was doing around your neck?” “He’s telling the truth.” Came a voice from beyond an open door. A man stepped into the room. He crossed the floor over to us and wedged himself between us to replay the video. “Look at this.” He said and played the hanging in slow motion. The video showed myself, standing with the noose around my neck, at the edge of the table; then slowly, as though being grabbed, my body was pulled forward. He let the video play through before the screen went blank. The male straightened his standing position and looked at me, as he took a finger to push the frames of his glasses up his nose. “What does this prove?” Came the female’s voice. “He’s the glitch.” “I’m the glitch?” I cocked my head to the side in study. The male turned his body around to face the female. “He’s not supposed to be here, his “suicide” wasn’t consented, and he didn’t jump.” I was sure that my gaze betrayed me, and the confusion yelled loudly. The male turned to me and shook my hand. “I am very sorry Mr. Holmes.” He said and quickly I retorted. “Where am I?”   
“This is the warehouse.” He said simply. “This is the waiting ground for the transference of souls between one life and the next.” I blinked and thought this through for a moment. “So reincarnation is real?” “Yes, but not the end all.” He said and urged for me to follow him. We walked through the room and out the door, which he had come from, and into a widely constructed what appeared to be a docking area. Around the room were machines at the end of long ramps. The machines reminded me in large part of cryogenic freezing pods that appeared in a great many sci-fi thrillers. The man before me led us through the space as he chatted away. “You see we are responsible for seeing to the afterlife of the deceased. Our computers monitor the persons consciousness throughout their life span and when it’s time to die, as it were, they end up back here.” I watched as people in white coats moved about the space, down the ramps and tending to the pods. “So what happens after you die?” I asked and he took pause for a moment. “That’s where it gets slightly complicated.” He said and once again adjusted his glasses. “Every one consciousness is input into our computer systems. It runs a schematic test on whom the person was versus what it was that they believed in regard to the afterlife.” He made a gesture to his right, and my eyes fell on a large screen, which consisted of thousands of names being run through in a wave. “If the person was a decent human being, then we look through what their version of paradise was and try our best to accommodate. On the flip-side, if the person displayed a pattern of negativity, than that soul is held in detainment until it can be looked at closer. Mostly, those souls are kept, studied, and then wiped clean of data to put back into circulation. “ The male looked at me very seriously. “Every soul has a chance to make life meaningful and to be a good influence.”   
I gave a simple nod. “You Mr. Holmes are a glitch that needs to be dealt with.” He led me once more through the room and into another room. I stopped as he headed for the computer system upon a high-rise desk. “We need to figure out just how it was that you got here.” He began to hit keys. “The system has your death ruled as suicide, being that you and I know better, we have to change your ruling. “ I shoved my hands into my pockets. “Change to what exactly?” He looked up at me, his eyes gleaming from behind his glasses. “Murder.”


End file.
